


Turning Back The Clock

by mad_martha



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Angst, Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-03
Updated: 2011-09-03
Packaged: 2017-10-23 09:38:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/248873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mad_martha/pseuds/mad_martha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron celebrates his 21st birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turning Back The Clock

**Author's Note:**

> First posted February 2003.

The note was not what Hermione had been hoping for.

 _I'm in Belgium and won't be able to make it back in time. It's probably better this way; I don't think I'm really someone he wants to see these days. Give him my best wishes if he asks - but I don't suppose he will._

"That is just so much bullshit, Harry Potter," she muttered angrily, crumpling the message up. "You could make it if you really wanted to, and I don't care _what_ happened after we left school - he'll still want you to be there on his twenty-first birthday. No matter what he says."

But if there was one thing Hermione Granger knew from experience, it was that Potters and Weasleys had extraordinary reserves of stubbornness where quarrels were concerned; this one had been going on for three years. She had no idea what had caused it, but although there had been moments when it seemed like a truce had been called, those had been far outweighed by other times when bitter, sharp, angry words had been exchanged. Things were made worse by the fact that both young men now had jobs where they could be sent abroad at a moment's notice, which meant fewer opportunities to patch up their differences. Hermione sometimes felt that Ron at least was glad of this, a fact that made her want to shake him until his teeth rattled.

But he was still her friend, and so was Harry. She hadn't given up on either of them yet and she wasn't about to start now.

xXx

The Burrow was heaving with relatives and old friends on the night of Ron's birthday party, all of them intent on having a good time.

Ron himself was no exception to this, although it seemed to Hermione that at some points his good humour was a little forced. He had been fine until she managed to pull him to one side to deliver Harry's message, after which a certain grim light had appeared in his eyes. He had laughed his old friend's absence off; Hermione wasn't fooled. She felt a surge of satisfaction of this and left him to it, contenting herself with staying out of his way and getting drunk with Ginny in Mr. Weasley's study.

Ron _was_ hurt, bitterly so, and it didn't help knowing that he had only himself to blame. His last meeting with Harry had ended badly and it had been entirely his fault; every time they met Harry tried to bury the hatchet of the quarrel they'd had just before leaving school, and every time Ron managed to sabotage his efforts by raking up the incident. Finally Harry had lost his temper and told Ron a few things which, if Ron was entirely honest with himself, were wholly justified. The silence between them that followed was unbroken for over three months, the longest they had ever gone without at least sending a message of some sort. Ron was privately surprised that Harry had even bothered to let Hermione know he wouldn't be here tonight.

All the same, he had thought – hoped – that Harry would try once again. Apparently not. But the lack of so much as a card made it worse. Ron joined in the festivities, and even managed to enjoy himself ... sort of. But it wasn't the same without Harry, and after a while he managed to quietly slip out of the back door into the garden, where he could breathe the cool night air and try to get a handle on his disappointment.

"Looking for me?"

Ron nearly leapt out of his skin, and had his wand out and pointed in the direction of the voice before he consciously thought about it.

"Easy!" The owner of the voice loomed out of the darkness, a slight figure in startling white robes, holding his hands up warily. The voice itself Ron would have known anywhere.

 _"Harry?"_

 _"Lumos."_ Harry's wand lit up, illuminating his amused smile. "Surprise!"

Ron's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment or two; then he abruptly realised he was still pointing his wand defensively at the other man and sheepishly lowered it. "'Surprise' is one word for it," he managed. "What are you doing here? Hermione told me you were out of the country and wouldn't be able to get here."

He hoped his voice didn't sound as petulant as he feared.

"What, and miss your twenty-first birthday? Are you kidding me?" Harry leaned against the rockery wall, studying him. Ron realised that he was still dressed in his England Quidditch team strip - white robes emblazoned with the scarlet Cross of St. George - and that he looked more than a bit dishevelled, as though he'd come straight from a rough game.

"How did you get here so quickly?" he asked suspiciously. "You didn't Apparate, did you? You know how risky it is Apparating across long distances - "

Harry rolled his eyes. "No, I didn't Apparate. I flew."

"So why did Hermione say - "

"Ron!" Harry sighed and looked at his watch. "Actually, technically speaking I'm just finishing the game. We're going to win 330 to 180."

 _"What?"_

Harry grinned and pulled a long gold chain out of the neck of his robes. The pendant on the end glinted in the light from his wand; it was a tiny hourglass.

"It's easy when you have friends in high places," he said.

Ron was horrified. "What are you doing with a _time-turner?_ " he demanded. "That is so illegal - "

"Oh, for crying out loud, when did you become such a killjoy? I was lent it so I could get here on time, you ungrateful oaf, but I'm beginning to wonder why I bothered!"

"Well, why did you bother?" Ron flung back. "It's not like we've been in each other's pockets for the last few months, is it?"

"And whose fault is that?" Harry demanded. "As I recall, your last words to me were something like "Get the hell out of my face and don't hurry back". Excuse me for taking you literally!"

"You are such a git. You know perfectly well that I never mean it when I say stuff like that - "

"Yeah, well maybe I get fed up of hearing it anyway." Harry's voice was rough with anger. "Maybe I get fed up of you picking fights with me every sodding time I turn up, _including this time_ , no matter what I do or say! What is your problem, Ron? What the hell do you want from me?"

"Nothing!" Ron flung back resentfully, even as his brain was screaming at him to shut his mouth. "I don't _want_ anything from you!"

For a split second he thought he saw Harry's face twist with hurt in the uncertain light from his wand; but he blinked and it was gone, the other youth's face as smooth and bland again as a plate of cream.

"Fine!" Harry said curtly. "I'll go. Give my regards to your mum and dad, will you? And the girls." He turned on his heel and stalked back down the garden path, grabbing his broomstick from where it was propped against the wall as he went.

Ron wanted to call after him not to go, but the words stuck in his throat. What was he supposed to say? "Sorry"? Sorry didn't cut it. Whatever they were going to say to each other had to be a whole lot more than that, and it had to be said without anger and hurtful accusations, which he wasn't sure he was capable of.

Then, like a miracle, Harry stopped at the gate. He stood there for a moment or two, his angry, rigid back and shoulders to Ron, clearly wavering. Then he turned and came storming back up the path.

"I brought you a present," he said angrily, rummaging in his robes.

However uncompromising Harry might sound at that moment, it was still a chance to mend things, a chance for Ron to leap into the breach and say what was really on his mind. He opened his mouth and typically made things worse instead.

"Why?" he demanded, before he could stop himself.

Harry wasn't wearing his spectacles tonight, as he wore contact lenses when he was playing, so the furious flash of his green eyes was quite visible. Ron almost took a step back, half expecting the other man to hit him with his broomstick. But somehow – _somehow_ – Harry managed to get a grip on himself.

"You are my friend," he enunciated slowly, as though to a half-wit, and with an emphasis on the word "friend" that was really quite unfriendly. "It's your _birthday_. Friends customarily give each other gifts on their birthdays as tokens of affection. _So don't make me use this as a murder weapon!_ "

Harry's right hand shot out, holding a box that was roughly six inches square. It was neatly wrapped in stiff paper that changed colour in the light, with little curls of ribbon tumbling from the top. It was almost certainly professionally wrapped; Harry might be the premier Seeker in England and probably Europe too, but he was utterly ham-fisted with anything else that required a little manual dexterity.

Unable to do anything else, Ron accepted the box gingerly and nearly dropped it on the spot when he discovered the unexpected weight of it. Harry had apparently expected something of the sort, for he caught it neatly and held on to it until Ron got a better grip.

"And don't drop it – it took me forever to find one."

Feeling deeply uncomfortable, Ron eased the paper and ribbons off the box and lifted the lid. For a moment he thought, absurdly, that the box was empty; in the dim light from the back door all he could see was what looked like a bottomless black hole in the middle of a sea of scrunched-up tissue paper. Then he must have moved for the tiny light from Harry's wand caught the object, making it flash in a rainbow of colours.

He realised he was holding his breath and let it out shakily. "Aw, crap, Harry ...."

Shoving the lid of the box under his arm, he tipped the object out into his palm and closed his fingers gently around the most perfect crystal ball he had ever seen. It fitted into his hand as though the maker had known his measurements, and he could tell just by the way the light was reflecting from it that it was absolutely flawless. Truly flawless crystal balls were very rare.

Harry was looking annoyed and pleased at the same time. He crossed his arms over his chest and said rather defensively, "Rumour has it that your last one got smashed."

"It did." The last one had cost him a small fortune and it had taken all his willpower not to blast the Death Eater who had destroyed it through the nearest wall. Ron looked up. "Where did you get this? I've been looking for a new one for ages."

"In Germany. They have amazing glassworks there. I nearly bought you a magic mirror as well – the depth in them is unbelievable." Harry shrugged. "I'll get you one for Christmas, if we're still talking by then."

Ron sagged, feeling like a fool, and sat down abruptly in the raised border of his mother's herb garden. He squashed some sage in the process, but that seemed like a minor detail. "God, I hope we are."

"So do I, but we haven't been making a very good job of it since we left school, have we?" Harry hesitated then sat down next to him, crushing a small thyme bush and releasing a cloud of spicy scent into the air. "What the hell went wrong?"

Ron opened his mouth to remind Harry of _exactly_ what went wrong – but shut it again just in time. Fortunately Harry didn't seem to expect a reply.

"So ... what's been happening with you?" he asked, in a desperate attempt to make 'normal' conversation.

"Oh, you know – the usual." Ron tried to sound casual. "Death Eaters, Dark wizardry, mayhem. You?"

"Same old, same old. You've probably kept track of the scores."

"Yeah." Ron could have quoted them – all of them. In fact, he could probably have given a move-by-move replay of every match Harry had played in the last three years, but he wasn't about to say so. His stash of newspaper cuttings made him look like some pathetic stalker; he didn't think there was a single mention of Harry in the press and magazines that he hadn't seen and all but committed to memory. "Keep your winning streak up and the World Cup's ours."

Harry smiled faintly. "We live in hope!" He searched for another topic of conversation. They were doing quite well so far; they'd been in each other's company for twenty minutes and hadn't come to blows yet. Unlike Christmas, when he'd punched Ron within five minutes of walking through the door; although admittedly that was a record. "Any significant others these days?"

"Nah, not really." Ron tensed inwardly, but kept his voice level with an effort as he made himself ask, "What about you? How's Draco?"

Instantly Harry stiffened. "You know, I just _knew_ we were going to come back to that."

"I only _asked!_ You know - politely, like people do!"

"Yeah, right!" Harry got a grip on himself. He was not going to give Ron a black eye on his birthday, no matter how tempting it might be. "Draco's fine, to the best of my knowledge."

"What, don't you know?" Ron said before he could stop himself.

"No! Oddly enough, we don't live in each other's pockets! He was fine when I saw him a couple of weeks ago – we went for a drink."

"Ooh, these modern marriages!"

Harry stood up. "I really _am_ going now – "

Ron grabbed his arm, instantly regretting his lapse. "No, Harry, look – I'm sorry – "

 _"Sorry!"_ Harry rounded on him, furious all over again. "Grow up, Weasley! You've been acting like an over-grown child ever since you found out about me and Draco. What is your problem? What the hell does it matter to you who I sleep with? Did I ever say anything about that stupid fling you had with Lavender Brown, even when it was _obvious_ what was going to happen? No! Because it was _none of my frigging business!_ But you! Where did you get the idea that you were the arbiter of my love life? Every single person I ever dated, you'd be loafing around, making sour faces and muttering about how it would all end in tears .... Well, it never did! And even if it did, it would _still_ be none of your business, because I'm a grown man and can manage my own affairs, thank you very much!"

He paused, a bit breathless from ranting, and sat down again. "And I don't feel better for having said that."

"You're right, though," Ron said sadly. "It _is_ none of my business."

"Well, whoopee! We're making progress."

"It's just ...." Ron stopped, and stared down at the crystal ball in his hand, turning it over and over.

"It's just what?"

"Nothing."

Harry huffed an aggravated breath. "Spit it out before I beat it out of you."

"It was Draco Malfoy!" Ron said explosively. "Bloody hell, Harry, _why?_ Why him? You spent seven years trying to kill each other, and then suddenly you're all over each other in the Quidditch changing rooms! _Draco Malfoy!_ "

"Try shouting a little louder – there are some people in Edinburgh who didn't hear you the first time," Harry commented dryly. He looked at Ron, whose face was all weird angles in the dim light, and sighed. "He was lonely, Ron."

Ron stared at him in disbelief. "You have to be kidding me."

"Oh, give it a rest!"

"Lonely, him? That nasty, self-centred, vicious, evil little git of a son of Lucius Malfoy – may he rot in Azkaban for a millennium .... Well, weep me a river and ask me if I care! That is _not_ a good reason for shagging his brains out after Quidditch practice, Harry."

"What would you know about it?" snapped Harry. "You walked in and found me kissing him. Big deal! You have no idea about the true situation at all. You just started screaming and shouting and stamping your feet like a big toddler, and wouldn't damn well listen when I tried to talk to you about it. You've _never_ bothered to listen when I try to explain."

"All right!" Ron sat back and folded his arms. "Try me! I'm listening now."

His posture was uncompromising, and Harry eyed him warily for a moment before deciding to speak.

"Okay .... Remember when Lucius Malfoy got caught?"

"I'm not likely to forget it," was Ron's curt response. "Six of them apprehended on Salisbury Plain, sacrificing a Muggle kid – Bill was one of the people who caught them."

"Right. So he went to trial, was sent to Azkaban and all his property was confiscated by the Ministry. What you probably don't know is that Narcissa Malfoy went off her nut and ended up in St. Mungo's, and Draco was made a Ward of Court. And he got sent back to school at the end of the summer to find that not only did he have nothing, no family, no money, no possessions, but his friends had turned their backs on him – probably ordered to by their parents, who were out to save their own skins – and everyone was pointing fingers at him. Including a couple of the teachers, I might add. He was completely isolated. And yes, I know, for a long time he just carried on as though nothing had happened. But for God's sake, Ron! He was seventeen, like the rest of us, and it must have hurt terribly. And on top of that, he was facing up to having no future because suddenly no one wanted to employ the son of a notorious Death Eater."

"So how, exactly, does that translate into you giving him one in the changing rooms?"

Harry looked at him, exasperated. "What makes you think I did?"

Ron gaped. "Excuse me! I walked in on you, remember?"

"Yeah, and what exactly did you see?"

Harry watched in some amusement as Ron spluttered indignantly.

"You – you were snogging him!"

"Either your sex education was crap, Ron, or you're incredibly easy to please, because I knew even before I went to Hogwarts that it takes more than a quick snog and a grope to get off," he replied coolly. Ron continued to splutter incoherently. "And for the record – _I_ didn't snog _him_ , he snogged me. And how incredibly juvenile is that word? It won't turn you into a girl to say "kissed", you know."

Ron ignored that. "So you're saying you didn't shag him?"

"No, I didn't." And then, because Harry was fundamentally an honest person, he reluctantly added, "Not then, anyway."

The redhead let out an exasperated breath and turned away. Harry felt the ire surge up again, but wrestled it down once more.

"Do you want to know _why_ he kissed me?" he asked instead.

"Not really," was the short reply.

"Too bad, I'm going to tell you anyway. He did it because I was the first person who'd been nice to him in a year. When I walked into that changing room, I caught him with his shirt off. And Ron – he was plastered in bruises. The other Slytherins hadn't just been giving him a hard time, they were beating him up. He hadn't told anyone, and he was furious when I saw the marks and wanted to know how he got them. Didn't take much to work it out." There was remembered anger and disgust in Harry's voice. "I was pretty mad when I dragged it out of him what had been going on. And in spite of everything, I think you might have been too if you'd heard what he told me."

"Don't bet on it," Ron snapped. "He got what was coming to him, Harry. How can you sit there and defend him?"

Harry looked at him for a long moment. "What was it worth," he asked finally, very gravely, "being a Gryffindor, if we couldn't do right by people? Even our enemies? Lucius Malfoy had a fair trial, but nobody gave his son that. Draco was made to suffer for his father's crimes, Ron, and what was more, he was made to suffer by his father's supporters as well as everyone else."

There was a long pause, and Harry didn't need the feeble light from their wands to see the telltale flush working its way up Ron's neck. He tried to lighten the atmosphere.

"Maybe if you'd been there from the start, he wouldn't have jumped me like that! I think he surprised himself more than he surprised me. Mind you, if there'd been more than one of us there, he might never have said anything," he added reflectively. "Who knows what would have happened then. He might have chucked himself off the Astronomy Tower. And _don't_ say that would have been a good thing."

The thought _had_ crossed Ron's mind, but he felt guilty when he heard the weary note in Harry's voice. Instead, he heard himself asking, "So when did the happy romance start?"

"Oh, for Christ's sake! It wasn't any such thing and you know it."

"No, I _don't_ know it, Harry! You never talked to me!"

"And whose fault was that? You made your feelings quite clear!" Harry glared at him. "In fact, I'm surprised you didn't drag everyone else into it – what stopped you yelling it around in the common room?"

"Do you think I _wanted_ everyone to know you were sleeping with the enemy? You were my friend, dammit!"

"Not so that anyone would notice!"

They were back to yelling at each other again, and the part of Harry that wasn't inwardly screaming with fury was nearly in tears, because he so wanted Ron to understand what had happened, that he hadn't wanted to hurt anyone or damage his friendship. But there had been someone back then who had needed his help, and at the time, after everything that had happened during his last three years at Hogwarts, Harry had so badly wanted to simply turn around and offer the hand of friendship to one of his enemies, rather than meeting them with a raised wand and a curse.

"How the hell was I supposed to deal with the fact that you were sleeping with Draco Malfoy?" demanded Ron.

"I wasn't _sleeping_ with him, you idiot! It wasn't even about sex – why can't you understand that?"

"Because – "

"Because _what?_ "

Ron stopped dead; he even seemed to stop breathing for a moment. Then suddenly he was climbing to his feet.

Harry grabbed his arm angrily, pulling him back. "No, dammit, don't you dare walk away from me! You tell me what you were going to say!"

But when Ron turned back to him, his face was white and set. "Because I wanted it to be me," he said simply.

The silence that fell was profound. Even the gnomes rustling in the bushes seemed to freeze in place. Harry's eyes grew huge and round and his mouth worked speechlessly.

Then the moment was broken by the back door of the house opening, letting out a blast of noise and hot air. Charlie Weasley stepped out into the garden, looking around.

"What the hell's going on out here?" he asked. "Sounded like a gnome-fight ...." He spotted the two of them. "Oh hey there, Harry – I didn't think you were coming!" His eyes tracked between the two of them, and he picked up on the tense vibes and body-language. Charlie wasn't stupid; he'd been there at Christmas when Harry punched Ron. "O-kay .... This is obviously a really bad moment – "

Ron got a grip on himself. "Were you looking for me?"

"Well ... yes. Mum said to tell you that she's bringing your cake out in a minute."

"Okay. I'm coming."

Charlie nodded, still eyeing them both warily, and backed up, pulling the door shut behind him again. Ron turned back to Harry nervously.

"I'd better – "

"No you don't! You're not walking away from me now!" Harry grabbed his arm and dragged him, protesting, further down the garden path, away from the door where he was sure Charlie was still lurking, waiting to jump out if they started fighting again.

 _"Harry!"_

Harry ignored him, shoving him up against the wall of Mr. Weasley's garden shed.

"Are you telling me," he said in a deadly voice, "that all this crap you've been giving me for the last three years has been because you _fancy_ me?" Ron didn't have to say anything; his miserable face said it all. "Damn it, Ron!" Harry took a couple of quick, steadying breaths. "I don't believe this ... why the hell did you never say anything?"

"Yeah, right," Ron muttered sullenly. "When do you think would have been a good moment to mention it? During lessons? At breakfast? In the common room, over homework one evening? Or how about at Quidditch practice – no, hang on, you were fifty feet in the air on a broomstick then, weren't you? Maybe I should just have said something when I caught you snogging Malfoy – yeah, I bet that would have gone down well."

Harry unexpectedly thumped him in the middle of his chest. "You git! Don't you dare try and make this out to be my fault!"

Ron gasped at the blow. "Well, what the hell did you expect me to say? What _would_ you have said if _I'd_ been the one to corner you in the changing rooms one day? If I'd suddenly said, in the middle of Potions, that I fancied you and what did you think about a quickie behind the broomshed?"

"We'll never know, will we? You didn't give me a sodding chance!"

Ron was suddenly furious all over again. "Well, maybe you didn't give me the chance, either! Maybe, just maybe, that was the day when I got my nerve together to ask you. _Maybe that was why I came looking for you in the changing rooms."_

"Oh _shit_ ...." Harry took a step back, his face white and horrified.

Ron leaned his head back against the wooden wall of the shed and wished that he'd never stepped into the garden that evening. That Hermione hadn't interfered and Harry was still playing his Quidditch game in Belgium.

"It's alright," he heard himself say. "Really, it doesn't matter anymore – "

"How can you say that, when you know it's been tearing us apart since we left school?"

"Harry ...." Ron looked at the other man. He looked so distressed. "What _would_ you have said?" he asked quietly. "Seriously. If Malfoy hadn't been there when I walked into the changing rooms, and I told you that I fancied you?"

"I'd have said this," and Harry grabbed him, dragging his head down so that they were level.

The kiss was hot and hard and sweet. For a moment Ron was too stunned to respond to the unexpected assault, but when he did ... when he did, suddenly it was all warm breath and lips, urgent, roving hands and the rough exploration of rapidly bared skin -

 _"Ronald!"_ An anxious call echoed across the garden.

"Shit!" Ron shoved Harry away with more haste than consideration and tried to fumble his clothes back into place.

"What are you doing?" Harry sounded more than a little pissed off.

"What do you think I'm doing? That's Mum!"

"So?"

Ron stared at him in disbelief. "What do you mean – _so?_ "

Harry glared. "Excuse me, but I think we have some unfinished business here!"

"Harry!" This was surreal. "If I don't get my backside in there in short order – " the call came again, interrupting him, " – she'll come looking for me!"

"And I repeat," Harry said calmly, reaching out to grab the front of Ron's robes and pull him close once more, " _so?_ "

Ron spluttered helplessly. "B-but ... we don't have time!"

There was a pause, and Harry's intent expression melted into a sudden grin. He fished inside the neck of his robes and pulled out ... the time-turner.

He laughed, holding it up. "Sure we do!"

And he turned it over.


End file.
